


A Town Like This

by hannahhoppers



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Attempted Rape, F/M, Fluff, Growing Up Together, Lieutenant Duckling, Modern AU, New York, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7608442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahhoppers/pseuds/hannahhoppers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a town like this, you needed somebody to watch your back. For Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it was each other.</p><p>Basically, a constantly-alternating piece of fluff/angst in a modern setting with more Lieutenant Duckling versions of them than Captain Swan versions. Normally I'm better than this at summaries. Apologies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Town Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I've been away for so long, lovelies! I was on vacation and then Emma and Killian refused to listen to me and kinda did their own thing for a while. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I don't own the show or the characters, so I'm playing with them. Adam and Eddy have such nice toys. Unbeta'd. Kudos and comments if you enjoy!

In a town like this, you needed somebody to watch your back. For Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it was each other.

 

They’d met when they were twelve. She’d found him pinned by his neck to the wall, a few gangster wannabes wielding pocket knives and demanding his wallet. She’d called out, asking them to leave him alone. They ignored her completely, and soon learned the consequences of that action- nobody had expected the scrawny girl with the big hoodie to fight as well as she did, but more than a few twelve-year-old boys walked away with swollen purple eyes and broken, bloody noses that afternoon. The two made a pact, that afternoon, sitting on the steps of PS 192- to protect each other as long as they lived in that city.

* * *

 

♖ **14 years old** ♖

 

“You look like you need a hot chocolate, Swan.” She was standing in the doorway of his apartment, drenched with rain, with tear tracks down her face and worries on her mind. He outstretched a hand and she took it, following him into the little flat he shared with his brother. After making sure that she was seated comfortably on the barstool by the counter, he started preparing a drink for her. “Spill.”

 

“It’s Edgar.”

 

“Your foster brother, yes?” She nodded. He poured the bubbling liquid into a mug and picked up the cinnamon shaker.

 

“He said that I was nothing but a worthless orphan. That if something happened to me, nobody would even bother investigating. That we must be having sex, because that’s the only reason you’d keep me around.” Fresh tears started to spill from her eyes. “He said he’d have to ‘try me out.’ I can’t go back there, Killian. I can’t.” 

 

“Oh, Emma.” He picked up the mug, guiding her to the couch. His arm went around her as her head pressed into his chest. The mug was cradled in her hands. A wet spot grew on his shirt where she cried. 

 

“I can’t go back there.”

 

“You don’t have to, love. Stay here for a bit. We’ll call Ingrid and let her know what’s going on, and go from there.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Definitely. Can’t let a fair lady sleep on the streets, now can we? It is Brooklyn, after all.” They didn’t hear Liam come in until he boomed,

 

“What’s this about sleeping on the streets? Hello, Emma.” She nearly upended her cocoa, but her friend took it carefully from her hands and set it on the coffee table before them. 

 

“Hey, Liam.” The two teenagers responded. 

 

“Emma’s staying with us for a bit,” Killian said, before she could say otherwise. “Until a situation gets taken care of at Ingrid’s.” Liam thought for a moment, then nodded.

 

“Does Ingrid know?”

 

“You have a phone call to make.”

 

“Alright, then. Emma, can you fill me in?” She tried, but couldn’t get the words out. Killian’s arm tightened around her. She knew it was illogical- Liam was like the father figure and brother she had never had, and he would never judge her for what Edgar had said. But she couldn’t force herself to repeat what had happened. When she shook her head, the older Jones nodded to his brother. “Is it okay if Killian tells me, then?” The blonde nodded, and her friend recounted what she’d said to him. 

 

“So she’s staying with us until Edgar can be placed somewhere else,” he concluded. 

 

“Alright, then. I’ll call Ms. Fisher.” 

 

Emma ended up living with the Jones brothers for two weeks. It was interesting, seeing the boys interact. She’d seen bits and pieces, sure, you couldn’t avoid that if you were as close as she was to Killian. But to watch them on their home turf, 24 hours a day, was different. The two joked like old friends, fought like siblings, and protected each other like father and son. For the first few days, Killian insisted that she take his bed while he slept on the couch. Eventually, she suggested that they just share, and so for ten days, Emma and Killian woke up in each other’s arms with smiles on their faces, just glad to have a friendship like this.

* * *

 

♖ **15 years old** ♖

 

_I want to strangle them all_ , she thought, as she peeled Killian up off the ground for the third time that week. It was only Thursday. The idiots on the football team thought that the gangly boy who refused to fight back was an easy target. She dragged him over to the cool metal bleachers and sat him down- his left eye was bruised and swollen shut. Blood was smeared across his face, matting down his hair and creating a sticky crust on his skin. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him like this, nor the first time she’d patched him up and walked him home. This _was_ the first time she’d seen tears dripping down his face while she did. 

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“You aren’t fine. What’s up?” She paused in dampening a tissue from her backpack and put her hand on his arm. 

 

“Normally they don’t talk. They just beat me up and leave. But today they kept saying that my ma died and my dad left because of _me_ , and that Liam’d get bored of me soon and I’d be out on the streets.”

 

“Oh, Killian.” She set the things in her lap beside her and tugged him into her arms. “It’s not true. You know it isn’t, and so does Liam, and so do I. We love you with everything we’ve got. Nobody’s getting bored of anybody.” She felt a nod against her shoulder. 

 

“Thank you,” he whispered. She smiled. 

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” The warm mass that was her friend nodded and pulled away. She missed the warmth a bit as she cleaned him up with a water bottle and a pack of tissues, the bitter November air nipping at her nose and cheeks. When her friend looked mostly alright, save for the black eye and bruises, they stood and began the familiar route back to his complex.

* * *

 

♖ **16 years old** ♖

 

She shouldn’t have been walking alone. It was dark, and she was a defenseless teenage girl in the middle of Brooklyn. It was supposed to be a short walk. Back to her apartment in five minutes flat. But she ended up pinned by her throat to the sidewalk in some dark alley, a stranger on top of her with his hand muffling her screams. She’d writhed around, keeping her legs knotted together and her arms flailing, and the masked man struggled with her for a good five minutes before giving it up as a lost cause and fleeing the scene. The sounds of her retching and sobbing echoed through the alley. 

 

She leaned against the dark red brick of the building on the left and took a few deep breaths, scrabbling in her pockets for change for a payphone. The pennies and dimes added up, she could make a call. The shaky, stumbling steps she took out of that alley and to the phone on the street corner were some of the hardest in her life. Her fingers punched in the numbers out of habit. It wasn’t until she heard the deep voice with a strong accent coming through the other end that she realized she’d called Killian instead of Ingrid.

 

“Jones household, Killian speaking.” 

 

“C- can you come p-pick me up?”

 

“Of course, love. What’s wrong?”

 

“I-” she tried, but couldn’t get out the words. 

 

“Where are you?”

 

“18th street and 50th avenue,” she murmured.

 

“I’ll be there in a flash, love. Take care.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Goodbye.”

 

“Goodbye.” Her legs carried her to a bench and she sat down. With nobody to protect her from her thoughts, she closed her eyes and replayed the events which had just transpired. Hot breath on her ear, the hard pavement beneath her. Exhaustion coursing through her veins as the fight began to wear her out, and _this was the end_. Even if she survived, she’d have lost her dignity, her sense of power, any sense of control she had over her life. Rough hands yanking at her clothes, grabbing her legs and arms and shoulders. 

 

“Emma!” her eyes snapped open and met Killian’s, worried and blue and familiar. His hand was resting lightly on her arm. “What happened, Swan?”

 

“H- He tried to- I couldn’t-” Body-wracking sobs overtook her. He held her lightly against his chest, as if he was afraid of breaking her.

 

“Shh. Shh. It’s alright, love. You’re safe, now. I’ve got you.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late. Is it alright if we go back to mine?” She nodded against him. “Can you stand?”

 

There was no response, tears still streaming down her face. He pulled away from her a little bit to look into her eyes. With a little tug, they both stood from their perch on the cold metal. His eyes darted back and forth over her, trying to ascertain her okay-ness. She took a few steps forward, her best friend right beside her, before her legs turned to jell-o and she crumpled. 

 

“Just l-leave me here,” she hiccuped, curling into her knees. “I- I’m not w-worth it.” He crouched down next to her.

 

“Hey, now. None of that. You are absolutely worth it, Emma Swan. I promise you that you are going to be alright.” She looked up, eyes glistening. “Is it okay if I pick you up?” A nod of her head was all he needed. She was bundled up in his arms, her feet off the ground. He marched through the city streets, glancing at her every so often as if he was terrified she’d evaporate. Her eyes were barely open, still moist. She was nearly asleep by the time they reached his front door. He set down her legs to fish out his key and open the door, and then guided her into the two-bedroom apartment that had come to be her second home. 

 

“Ingrid doesn’t know where I am,” she murmured. 

 

“I’ll have Liam call her. Are you okay if I go talk to him for a minute?” A nod of her head, a brush of his fingers, and he turned away from her. She slid off her shoes and made her way to the couch, huddling into the corner and covering herself with the throw blanket draped across the back. She could hear her friend clear as day. 

 

“Emma’s staying the night. You need to call Ingrid.”

 

“Alright. What is it?”

 

“I- I think somebody tried to hurt her. Badly. After she called, I found her on a bench, and she was just sitting there. Not moving or anything. I called out to her but it was like she didn’t even hear me. She didn’t respond until I was practically shouting her name.” His voice was thin and shaking.

 

“Alright. You go take care of her, I’ll talk to Ingrid.” She heard footsteps on the hardwood floor and then the couch sank beside her. His hand resting on her arm, he said,

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey.”

 

“I’m going to get you a cup of tea, alright? Then we’re going to talk.”

 

“Okay.” He came back a few minutes later with a warm mug. She leaned against him and sipped from her drink. 

 

“What happened?”

 

“I was coming home from dinner at Mary Margaret’s, and one minute I was walking and the next I was on the ground in that alley, a-and he was on top of me, and I was screaming, but he had his hand over my mouth and he was trying… he was trying to take my clothes off, Killian, and I kept fighting him and he ran off. I was so scared, Killian, I was so…” she broke off. He rubbed her shoulder and rested his head on top of hers. 

 

“You’re safe now, love. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you. And I swear to you, on my mother’s grave, that you are going to be okay. Alright?”

 

“A- alright. Okay.”

“Good.” A jaw-cracking yawn escaped from her throat. “Let’s get you to bed, love. Figure out what to do next in the morning.”

 

“Okay.” He pulled the now-empty mug from her hands and followed her to his room. In silence, he handed her some sweatpants and a t-shirt and she went to change in the bathroom. Once both were ready to sleep, they slid under the covers, and he tossed his arm over her waist. Warm. Reassuring. _There_. 

 

Ingrid called the school and said she was sick, and would be staying home that day. Liam did the same for Killian, and the two sat together from dawn to dusk, drinking tea and watching movies. By the end of the day, she felt like herself again. Still a bit shaken, but overall okay. After thoroughly confirming that she truly was alright, the Jones brothers walked her back home.

 

“If there’s anything you need, or… anything at all, ring me up, Swan. Doesn’t matter what time. Alright?”

 

“Yeah. And thank you, Killian.”

 

“Anytime, love.” They parted with a hug, and as soon as she’d stepped into her apartment she found herself in Ingrid’s arms. 

 

“My God, don’t you ever worry me like that again.”

 

“I’m okay, Ingrid. It’s- I’m okay, now.”

 

“Good.”

* * *

 

  
♖ **17 years old** ♖

 

Killian and Milah were supposed to be here 20 minutes ago. She checked her watch again, then the door. The three were meeting up for lunch at the hole-in-the-wall diner that Killian had found a few years back, but her best friend and his girlfriend were running pretty late. Emma and Milah had become pretty decent friends- they had the mutual bond with Killian and just… clicked. Aside from Mary Margaret, Emma hadn’t really had any girl friends, and it was nice to have a girl to chat with in a different way from how she talked with Killian. 

 

With one final glance at the clock, Emma stood and walked out the door. Her plan was to walk to Killian’s apartment first, then Milah’s, then back to the diner. They’d likely be somewhere along the route. 

 

When Killian’s apartment and the roads and sidewalks between were a bust, she turned the corner and marched on, her chunky boots pounding against the sidewalk. As she walked, she heard sirens blaring and an ambulance flashed by her. She continued on, pausing when she reached the same spot as the ambulance. Apparently somebody lost control of their car and crashed into a taxicab. She was going to keep on walking past when she saw a flash of black hair being pulled out of the yellow wreckage- she looked back and saw the lightly-stubbled face of her friend being yanked from the crunched-up cab. 

 

“Killian?”

 

“Do you know this boy?” An officer asked, intercepting her on her dash towards her friend. 

 

“Um… yeah. Yeah. His name’s Killian Jones. We were supposed to meet for lunch, him and me and Milah…”

 

“Who should we call for him? Mom, dad?”

 

“No, um… his- his brother. Liam Jones.” She rattled off the phone number. “Is he going to be okay?”

 

“We’ll have to wait and see what the paramedics say.” 

 

“And Milah?”

 

“Teenaged girl, dark hair, kind of tall?”

 

“Yeah. Was she- was she in the car?”

 

“I’m sorry to tell you, miss… she was pronounced dead as soon as the ambulance got here.”

 

“Oh god… no…”

 

“I’m sorry.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off. “They’re taking your friend to Newkirk Medical Center.”

 

“Thanks.” She turned and walked away, mapping a path in her head to get her to the hospital as fast as possible. 

 

When she found him lying in the metal bed, he was asleep. She sat on the edge of the bed and held onto his hand, scanning him for signs of serious harm. She gasped when saw a handless wrist lying by his side, a bandage covering the hole. His face was covered in bruises and nicks, bits of blood dripping around them. His eyes flickered open and ran around the room for a moment before landing on her. 

 

“Emma…”

 

“Hey.”

 

“Sorry I’m late, love.” She lunged forward and hugged him. He grunted and she yanked back. “They told me I broke a few ribs.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Lost my hand, too,” he added, waving the stump. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

 

“I’m glad you’re mostly okay.”

 

“Aye, love. I’m fine.” He looked around. “Where’s Milah?”

 

“Killian, she… she died.” His eyes filled with anguish.

 

“Wha- no! She’s- she can’t be! She was just- but… no…”

 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, teary-eyed. She wiped a few salty water droplets off his cheeks and kissed his forehead. He shoved himself to the side of the bed and nodded at the space next to him.

 

“Come on, then.”

 

“What?”

 

“Lay down with me for a bit. Just until I fall asleep?”

 

“Alright.” She slid in next to him he leaned his head on her shoulder. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head and squeezed his hand. He’d be okay.

* * *

 

♖ **18 years old** ♖

 

She’d thought it was love. She saw stars in his eyes, joy in his smile, felt love in his touches. But she was wrong. 

 

Killian scowled whenever she came to him with stories of a heist, urging her to think about what would happen if she got caught. He was never angry, just a bit disappointed. But when she told him how they planned to sell the stolen watches, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her. 

 

“Emma! Think about this! Listen to what you’re saying, I’m begging you. Don’t go through with this. Break it off with Neal. Don’t put yourself in danger to save that sodding bastard.” He squeezed her arms one last time and let go. And when he looked at her, it was like waking up from a trance. Neal was a moron. This was insane. She couldn’t go to Portland to pick up 20,000 dollars worth of stolen watches. 

 

“A- alright. You’re right.”

 

“Thank god.” He wrapped her up in his arms and held her tight. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you to prison. Or Canada.”

 

“I’ll call him. He can go get his own watches.”

 

“Alright.”

 

Two weeks later, Neal was behind bars in Phoenix and she was safe in the little Brooklyn apartment she shared with her best friend. Three weeks later, she was holding a plastic stick and Killian was ready to storm the prison, guns blazing. 

 

“I don’t think I can do this, Killian.” The fury in his eyes disappeared when he looked at her.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Have a kid! Raise it! Any of it… I…”

 

“Look at me, Swan.” She paused in her crying to stare into his eyes. “I will support you in whatever you decide, but I promise that you can raise your child if you want to. And I’ll help, whatever you need. Liam, too.”

 

“Thank you.” She slumped against him. “I think- I think I might want to do this. Have this kid. Raise it. Everything.”

 

“Good for you, Swan. You’ll be the best mother the world has ever seen.”

 

“I don’t know about that. But thanks.” He smiled against her. She smiled back. “Please don’t go after Neal.”

 

“Alright, love. But if I happen to run into him I won’t hold back a few choice words, I can promise you that much.”

 

“Ditto.”

 

“So are you okay?”

 

“I don’t know. Not yet, but I think I will be.”

 

“Good.”

* * *

 

♖ **19 years old** ♖

 

She was sitting in the local library, poring over notes on some historical figure or another for her European History class when her phone rang. 

 

“Emma, I- I need you to come home.”

 

“Why, what’s wrong?”

 

“It’s not- I just… I just need you here.”

 

“Alright. On my way,” she said, snapping her textbook shut. “Hang in there.”

 

“Thank you, love.”

 

“See you soon.”

 

“You too. Goodbye, Swan.”

 

“G’bye.” She yanked her bag onto her shoulder and hurried out the door, glass and metal clanging shut behind her. She couldn’t help but worry. Something must be really wrong if Killian wouldn’t tell her over the phone. A problem with Henry, or their landlord? She couldn’t come up with any situation in which something was so bad that he wouldn’t just say it. She turned the key in the lock and tossed open the door. “Jones! What’s wrong?” she yelled as she walked inside. 

 

He emerged from the kitchen, hair disheveled. His eyes were melancholy. She dropped her bag on the ground beside her and went to him, holding onto the back of his head as his knees buckled and he crumbled into her. 

 

“I- it’s Liam.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“I- he- he’s gone.”

 

“Oh, Killian.”

 

“He was at lunch, with- with friends, a-and there were eggs in whatever he ate, and… and by the time he got to the emergency room his throat had closed up… Emma….” Neither knew how long they stood there, in the front hallway of their little apartment, rocking back and forth while he cried into her shoulder. 

 

“I’m so sorry, Killian.” He didn’t respond, just kept shaking against her shoulder. Henry wailed from the pack-n-play they kept in the living room. 

 

“I’ll go get him,” he choked. 

 

“Alright. I’ll go cook… something.” A weak smile made its way to his lips. Both knew of her lack of prowess in the kitchen. 

 

While she pulled butter and cheese out of the fridge and set them by the stove, she watched as her friend picked her son up from his cradle and bounced him, hushing his cries even as tears continued to stream down his face. She cooked up two grilled cheeses while he re-settled Henry. He sank onto the barstool before her as she slid a paper plate towards him. 

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, carrying her own plate over to the seat beside him and sitting down.

 

“Not really. Just… I need you here.”

 

“Always, Killian.” She laced her fingers around his prosthetic. “Always.”

* * *

 

♖ **21 years old** ♖

 

For her 21st birthday, Killian found a babysitter for Henry and took Emma to the bar he’d heard about from his friends at work.

 

“Go on, love. Try whatever you want. My treat.” After some deliberation, she picked a cocktail and he ordered her drink and his. They sat and chatted on the wooden-backed stools as they waited. The bartender slid their beverages across the counter to them and winked.

 

“That boyfriend of yours is treating you right, hon,” she said, before whipping around, her dark ponytail flying over her shoulder before either could correct her. They glanced at each other and busted into giggles. It wasn’t the first time somebody had made the assumption, but they realized how very much they looked like a couple. 

 

As the night wore on and they got increasingly drunk together, she couldn’t help but notice how different her friend looked from the day she first met him, twelve years old with too big ears and fear in his eyes. He really had grown up quite nicely- all muscle and dark, disheveled hair and piercing blue eyes. And somewhere, in her tequila-addled brain, a little voice whispered, _kiss him_. And for a little while she ignored it, the voice that sounded suspiciously like her matchmaker friend Ruby, but after another two beverages she murmured “What the hell?” and tugged him towards her by the collar of his blue button-up. 

 

The kiss was drunken and sloppy, but felt realer than anything she had had with Neal. When they pulled away from each other, panting a bit, both touched fingers to their lips, trying to ease away the tingling. 

 

“That was…” he murmured, taking in another deep breath.

 

“Incredible,” she slurred. 

 

“Aye, love. But…”

 

“But what?” She drawled.

 

“We are both very drunk.”

 

“So?”

 

“So… I’m not saying that wasn’t… absolutely fantastic, but shouldn’t we wait until we’re in a more reasonable state of mind to really talk about this?” She stuck her bottom lip out at him, and gave him her best puppy dog eyes, bloodshot and dilated though they may have been. 

 

“Pleeeease?”

 

“Love, you’re completely hammered. Let’s get some water in you and then get you home.”

 

“But Killian-”

 

“Nope. Not tonight. I’d be thrilled to have this conversation in the morning over coffee. Trust me, you’ll need it.” He flagged down the girl still working the bar and asked for a few glasses of good ol’ H2O. “Now you’re going to drink all of this, because the boy will be up at the crack of dawn and you are going to be miserable if you don’t.” She scowled at him and raised the glass to her lips, downing most of the drink in one massive gulp and taking a few smaller sips afterwards.

 

“Happy?”

 

“Not quite. A few more, Swan.” He grabbed a glass for himself and downed it, watching his friend carefully to make sure she actually did drink the clear beverage. After quite a bit of whining and she had several glasses of water in her, he bobbed his head, steered her out of the bar and hailed a cab. She drifted off against him as they drove, and he shook her awake when they reached the front of their apartment complex. She stumbled out of the cab as he paid the driver, leaning against the yellow paint on unsteady legs. He, significantly less inebriated, clambered out after her and gently guided her to their front door. 

 

They got themselves inside and he relieved the babysitter before putting Emma to bed. Once she was tucked under the covers and snoring softly, he checked on Henry and prepared the home the three shared for the morning. The coffee pot prepped, Advil and water laid on nightstands and the apartment generally tidy, he retired for the night, snuggled under the covers and wondering whether Emma would remember what had happened when she woke up in the morning. 

 

It turned out, she did not remember. As she bounced Henry on her hip while he flipped pancakes, he told the tale. 

 

“So…” he concluded, looking to her for any indication as to what they were going to do next.

 

“Huh.”

 

“What are we going to do about this?”

 

“I honestly have no idea, Killian.”

 

“Well, we could move forward and pretend it never happened,” he suggested. He glanced at her and her nose was wrinkled in aversion. “No? Alright… well, we could proceed to be incredibly awkward about it and be weird around each other for the rest of our days.”

 

“Seriously? Are you still drunk or something?”

 

“So that’s a no,” he laughed. “I suppose we could try- erm… us?” He scratched behind his ear. 

 

“Like… dating?”

 

“I don’t know. I suppose so?”

 

“I don’t know, Killian. I- what we have, what we’ve had for years- it’s pretty good. I don’t want to lose that. What if we break up or something? I can’t lose my friendship with you. I couldn’t, and I won’t.”

 

“But what if we don’t break up? Swan, we’re already living together. We’ve already made it through times of crisis. We know just about everything there is to know about each other. Honestly, Emma, what could go wrong?”

 

“I don’t- I don’t know. I just… I’m afraid. I’m really afraid.” He slid the pancakes off the pan and went to her. He took the baby and set him in his chair by the table and grabbed Emma’s arms.

 

“Hey. What are you afraid of?” Her eyes whipped up from the ground and looked into his. 

 

“Of losing you,” she cried. “Of losing us, of getting my heart broken, of… of…” At this point, tears were streaming down her face and she was barely able to choke out her words. Killian welcomed her into his arms, rubbing her back and trying to comfort her as she sobbed. He knew her story- abandoned by a freeway in her infancy, tossed into the foster care system, and bounced from group home to group home before Ingrid took her in at eleven years old. For longer than he’d known her, the only fact that had remained constant in her life was that she was unwanted. 

 

And he’d tried to refute that untruth every moment he was with her. And he’d tried, oh, he’d _tried_ not to fall in love with the orphaned blonde who took care of him as much as he took care of her, but it had been a hopeless endeavor. And he’d been with Milah and she’d been with Neal, and disaster after disaster kept getting in their way, and now- now they had a _chance_ , a chance to _be something_. Be together. He’d been startled, sure, when she kissed him in the bar the night prior. But it was everything he’d hoped for since he was thirteen years old and they were eating ice cream together outside her mother’s parlor, and the sunlight had hit her hair just right, and her laugh was ringing out clearer than a bell, and she was the loveliest person he had ever met and could ever hope to know.

 

“Emma, I’d rather die than break your heart. I promise that you’ll never, _ever_ lose me. I swear it to you on my mother’s grave. On Liam’s grave.” That wound was a little too fresh for the both of them, the loss of their father figure, their best friend, their brother causing her shoulders to shake a little harder, a few tears to drip down his cheeks as well. They swayed back and forth in the middle of the kitchen for quite a while. He murmured sweet nothings and shushes into her ear, trying to ease away the fears that had wrapped around her soul. 

 

“This is exactly what I don’t want to lose,” she mumbled against him. A chuckle reverberated through his ribcage, vibrating against her heart while she stood pressed into him with her chin on his shoulder. 

 

“Hugs? I promise that if we… date, I suppose would be the term? Regardless, I promise I won’t stop hugging you.” A smile cracked on her lips.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Okay. Let’s do this. Let’s give… _us_ … a shot.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Positive?”

 

“Mhmm.”

 

“Definitely?”

 

“If I kiss you will you shut up, Killian?” He’d barely nodded his assent before her arms were wrapped around his neck and her mouth crashing against his at a startling speed. 

 

In a town like this, you needed somebody to watch your back. For Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it was each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! A stray comment or kudos would not go unappreciated! ;) 
> 
> More fics on the horizon. <3


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